Cinnamon Rolls
by LinkehCrescent
Summary: Oh no! Mrs. Lovett spiked the icing! Sweenett.


"Hm, a bit more powdered sugar and gin, and I think the icing'll be ready to go on."

The woman snickered to herself, putting a large tablespoon of powdered sugar into the white mixture, and then emptying the rest of a bottle of gin into it. She tasted the slightest bit, and couldn't even taste the alcohol over the sweet sugar. This wouldn▓t be strange, except that the last bit had made the third bottle to go into the mix. Another larger bowl of icing sat on the left hand side of her, but she ignored it for the moment and pulled a cinnamon roll from its spot among its brethren, placing it on a plate. The warm smell of cinnamon reached her nose, and she smiled, knowing she had done well with the new recipe.

Quickly, she lathered the dessert with the spiked icing, wanting to make sure her victim got the full effect of the alcohol. Because if he didn't, she was going to have to try again, with something stronger.

Mrs. Lovett let the special cinnamon roll set, while she covered the others with layers of the regular icing.

"Toby, love!" she called, still smiling. She pulled another one from its spot and placed it on a plate.

The boy had been waiting impatiently in the living room, twitching with anticipation. At the sound of his name, he sprinted into the kitchen, eagerly snatching the plate from her hand.

"Thanks mum," he said politely, sliding into a booth to eat. His little hands were soon covered in sticky icing, and both he and the woman were giggling excitedly.

The pie-maker took one for herself, being more careful then the boy, but enjoying it just as much. When she was done, she cleaned her hands on a damp rag and gave the rag to Toby.

"Are you going to take one to Mr. T?" asked the boy, attempting to rid his hands of the icing that seemed intent on clinging to his skin.

"Yes," she replied, grabbing the gin filled cinnamon roll from the counter. He watched her leave the shop and go up the stairs to the barber shop, shaking his head slightly. He didn't know when his adoptive mum would finally realize that the barber was no good.

While that had been going on, the barber had been pacing his shop, on the edge of extreme boredom. The customers that had come in had been few and well known, so he wasn't able to add to his growing collection of victims. He just wanted one for the day, just to feel the warmth of fresh blood against his skin.

He was so eager for all of this, that he jumped with excitement when Mrs. Lovett entered. His mood immediately faltered when he saw that it was only her.

"'ello, love," she greeted him, smiling like she did everyday. He glared blankly at her, not speaking as she approached him. "Brought you something."

The smell of warm cinnamon was enticing, and he looked down at the cinnamon roll.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Why, love, it's a cinnamon roll!" she replied, her tone full of disbelief. The emotion she showed so freely reminded the barber how very little of it he had.

He watched her as she tore a piece off, watched as the still warm icing dripped off of the bit and onto her hand. He hesitated for a moment as she held the baked good in front of his mouth, then reluctantly opened, letting her place the piece in his mouth. The satisfying sweet taste of sugar was something the man hadn't had in forever, and he savored the taste. The flaky texture seemed to melt in his mouth, and he realized that she was giggling at him, having watched his changing facial expressions.

"I'm impressed, Mrs. Lovett," he murmured to her, tearing off a bit for himself this time. He studied the taste in his mouth more judgingly this time, thinking that he might have tasted a bit of gin, but he ignored it, instead concentrating on not letting any of the icing escape him.

Mrs. Lovett smiled, her plan working successfully. She licked a bit of icing off her fingertips, watching as a smile flickered across his face. He offered a small bit to her, and she allowed him place it in her mouth. A bit of gin wasn't going to hurt her any.

"They're rather good, aren't they, Mr. T?" She watched him as he sucked the last bits of icing from his own fingertips.

"I think you're rather good," he answered, taking the plate from her hands, sitting it down on the table, and wrapping his arms around her waist. She laughed as he drew her towards him.

"Love, you ▒aven't even ▒ad a taste yet." She ran her fingers down his jaw line seductively, knowing that the alcohol had done its job. She brushed her lips past his teasingly, and felt him twitch. She thought for a brief moment that she might have given him too much, and that he was about to pass out, which wouldn't have been any fun at all. She brushed a piece of hair out of his face.

"Are you going to be alright?" Her tone gave away nothing.

"Yes," he replied. "But I know how I can be much better."

She raised an eyebrow at him, holding back excited laughter. Gin did wonders on people.

"This isn't the place for that, love," she told him, pulling away and taking his hand. She watched him carefully as she led him down the stairs, making sure his uncertain steps didn't falter. Her plan wouldn't be ruined by an injury, not when she was so close to having what she dreamed of. Soon she was closing the door to her bedroom with a gentle click, leaving us, reader, to only imagine what was happening behind the wooden panels of the door.

Morning came more quickly then the woman ever remembered. She needed to get out of the bed, dress, and be out in the pie shop before the barber realized what she had done. She had parted him from his razor during the night, along with the rest of his clothing, but she didn't doubt that being razorless would stop the raging monster the man beside her was sure to become. Margery attempted to drag herself out of the bed, to find that Sweeney's arms were locked firmly around her, keeping her from escaping. She tried vainly to slip from his grip, and it was a while before she noticed his breathing wasn't that of sleeping, but that of wakefulness.

"Good morning, Mrs. Lovett," she heard him say, and the lightness in his low tone surprised her. "I expected you to be up earlier then this."

She rolled over to face him, growing warm under his amused gaze.

"Oh... Mr. T," she stammered, glancing away from his dark eyes. She knew better then to search for emotion in them.

"You know, Mrs. Lovett," began the barber, enjoying the fear that played across her face as he spoke again. "In Australia, they used to give us things much stronger then gin."

The woman blushed, but didn't interrupt him, afraid of provoking him more.

"They gave it to us in the morning because they knew it would make us numb to the physical pain. They gave more of it to us at night so we would sleep, because they knew that if we slept well, we'd work harder.

"After a month or two of that, our bodies became tolerant to the alcohol, and they had to increase the quantities they gave us so that they could still push us as hard as we could go, sometimes even harder then that.

"I had that done to me for fifteen years, my pet. Do you think that a few bottles of gin are going to cloud my judgment for longer then an hour?"

Realization spread through her features.

"So... you weren't really drunk?" she slowly asked, choosing her words carefully.

"No, but it was a wonderful attempt, love."

"But... why'd you go along with it then?" Her skin tingled as she had a flickering hope that he would tell her he did it because he loved her. He took his time responding.

"Because... I know what it's like to have what you want slip through your fingers." An unusual smile flicked across his face. "And I have to say, your methods are rather amusing."

"If you try it again, I may have to kill you," he added, letting his tone drop into something more teasing.

"It would be worth it," she replied, a mischievous glint catching in her eye. He cocked one of his black eyebrows at her.

"Now I think I'll leave you to your plotting. There are men that need to die today, Mrs. Lovett." 


End file.
